


Threshold

by imwantedatthetrafficjam



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, One Shot, Poor John, it's all a bit much for john
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 20:05:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/678391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imwantedatthetrafficjam/pseuds/imwantedatthetrafficjam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock forces an end to the UST</p>
            </blockquote>





	Threshold

**Author's Note:**

> First Johnlock fic ever! I’m a long-time consumer of fandom products, figured it’s probably time I tried to contribute…

They staggered in over the threshold, John almost tripping as he shrugged of his jacket. He was soaked to the bone, his cheap black jacket unable to cope with the London rain. But he was exhilarated. The energy was in him again, lifting up his heart and filling his chest. He looked over at Sherlock, meeting his eyes as an uncontrollable smile took over his face. It had been a good case, culminating in an exhilarating chase down rainy, cobblestoned streets in an old part of London. He had felt that curious sense of expansion he always did when he felt true fear. His focus pushed out from the mundane worries of his own head and into the beating of his heart, the pumping of his blood through his body. The pull of air down into his lungs. Sherlock answered his smile with his own, and John felt the connection, as he had so many times before. His energy sparking against Sherlock’s. Breaking his gaze, he let himself fall back against the wall. A moment later he sensed Sherlock do the same, shifting over slightly so that his shoulder bumped up against John’s. 

It was just a small gesture, certainly nothing that could mean anything. Certainly not to Sherlock, the man had no sense of personal space. But he had been doing it more and more frequently lately. Small touches. A hand to John’s shoulder as they navigated past each other in the hall. Letting his arm press against John’s as they waited for a taxi. Small touches. 

It was making things difficult for John. If he was honest with himself, he had been rather too preoccupied with the man since moving in. His eyes were constantly drawn to Sherlock, and regardless of how insufferable Sherlock was being his body was drawn as well. Too many times John had wanted to reach out and grasp hold, press their bodies together and….. Well his brain never let him get much further than that, leaving him hard and frustrated. 

John leaned forward, resting his hands on his thighs as he blew out his breath, feeling himself start to come down from the high. He shakes his head, lifting his eyes as he straightens up again. 

Sherlock is standing a few inches in front of him.

Suddenly the atmosphere is charged again. Sherlock is not looking directly at him, instead seeming to be focused intently on a spot just over John’s left shoulder. Slowly his hand comes up, and he reaches forward to brush the back of his fingers against John’s shirt, just below the third button. He becomes still again, seeming content to just stand there, his fingers lightly resting against the fabric of John’s chest. There is absolute silence in the flat, save their breathing, Sherlock’s slow and steady, John’s now slightly erratic. 

He should say something. Break the tension in the air. Make a joke about personal space and then escape to put the kettle on. He’s not gay. Nobody finds out they’re gay in their 30’s with no indications beforehand. 

“John”.

He doesn’t look up as Sherlock quietly rumbles his name. But he can’t help the way the man’s voice affects him. The way it seems to vibrate in his chest. Shit shit shit, he can feel himself getting an erection. He needs to escape.

“Sherlock” he puts a bit of heat into his voice. “Can you move back please?”.

Sherlock responds by moving his hand down and pressing his palm to John’s crotch.

“No” he says quietly, but firmly. 

“And don’t try to pretend you want me to”.

Sherlock brings his other hand down and reaches for his belt buckle, opening it and the top button of John’s jeans in one smooth motion. His hand reaches in and draws John out. John throws his head back, closing his eyes as it thunks against the wall. His body is a riot of nerves, he’s so tense he feels like he could combust. And then Sherlock’s nimble fingers are closing around the base of his cock. The feeling is at once amazing and totally, totally fucking terrifying. His hands ball into fists at his sides as Sherlock starts stroking him. He lets out an involuntary moan, turning his face to the side, but not before he sees the look of grim satisfaction creep into Sherlock’s eyes. 

It doesn’t take long at all before he comes, hard. He collapses, boneless, back against the wall. Sherlock follows him in, hands coming up to steady John. They both stay there for what feels like long minutes as John tries to calm down and catch his breath. 

He can feel Sherlock hard against his leg, and he knows he should do something. Reciprocate in some way. He wants too. Desperately. But it’s too much. Too much for one night and John feels like he can’t breath. He’s too old for this. Too old for sudden revelations about his sexual identity. Too old to realize he wants to sink to his knees and find out what his flatmate tastes like.

He feels Sherlock stiffen, slowly nodding his head as he withdraws. Once again his thoughts are obviously entirely transparent to the man. John looks up and catches the look of sadness in Sherlock’s eyes, before the neutral mask descends. Sherlock nods, once, before turning and leaving the room. 

John is left propped up against the wall, his limp cock still hanging out of his trousers. He curses himself quietly, tucks himself away, and heads up to his room.


End file.
